The Heart In Shadow
by JackDante
Summary: SLASHFIC! Can love blossom between a halfelf and a Shadow Weave sorceror? Strange things are afoot when the two meet in a dark clearing... and what is the mysterious creature that stalks in the night?


(**Disclaimer:** Firstly - THIS IS SLASHFICTION. If you don't like man-on-man action, click that back button right now. You've been warned.

Now, if anyone from the 'Forgotten Realms' team found out I'd written this, they'd probably shoot me. Come to think of it, so would the DM who's been running the campaign. I'm entirely responsible for this piece of literary manure, although, yadda yadda yadda, the 'Forgotten Realms' campaign setting and all the related canon gubbins belong to Wizards of the Coast or whoever's dealing with the AD&D books these days.

Paramon is a young adept of the Shadow Weave, a sorceror who turned to follow Shar's dark path due to his selfish and spiteful nature; he's a character I've roleplayed as for over two years now, and was originally based on Jonathan Rhys Meyers as Steerpike in 'Gormenghast'. As for this bit of slashfiction, nothing like this has ever happened in the campaign I've been playing him in. I woke up one morning and I felt pretty hazy, then I had a series of half-awake dreams involving a gay romance between pretty boy Paramon and a black-haired half-elf, thus Charnel was born. Oh, it's worth adding that my roleplay session Paramon isn't necessarily heterosexual... it's just that he hasn't found the right man yet...

There is _no _excuse for what I've done here. None at all. Enjoy!)

* * *

Perhaps it was the nervous whickering of his horse that woke Paramon up; then again, it could have been a vibration from one of the magical wards he'd cast prior to falling asleep. Perhaps it was even due to his familiar, a rotund rat he'd named Findus, nibbling gently at his earlobe. Whatever the reason, he was awake now - and he was not alone. He could sense something, something watching him from the shadow of the trees at the edge of the clearing where he'd set up his camp, and it was making him feel distinctly nervous. Shivering slightly in the cool night air, he drew his blanket more tightly about himself and tried not to stir; if whatever this thing was reacted to movement, he could wind up dead if he wasn't careful.

"Paramon? Mr. P?" The eager voice of his familiar rattled in his ear. "Mr. P, you 'wake?"

"Not now, Findus! Get _off_!" With an irritated hiss, Paramon swiped at where the rat was snuffling at his earwax and silenced him with a glare. "There's something out there, and if it hears us, we could be in for some _serious _trouble!"

"I _know_ that, Mr. P!" Findus sounded quite offended. "That's what I was trying to_ tell_ you! I can see in the dark better than you can, being a rat an' all..."

"Yes, yes, of _course _you can. Very well, then - what can you see?" The sorceror shifted slightly, trying to make it seem that he was merely turning in his sleep, and scanned the treeline as best he could in the darkness. "Does it look friendly?"

"Well, since you asked," his rat continued, sounding very self-important and pleased with himself now that he was being probed for information, "It doesn't look too pleased to see you. I think it's just an animal, but it's a pretty big one. Maybe it's eyeing up the horse for a snack. I think it's prowling - oooh, there it goes again! - nah, it's gone now."

"Are you sure?" He tried to keep the nervous tone from his voice.

"Think so. Is there any food left?"

Sighing wearily, Paramon tossed his rat a leftover piece of dried meat then tried to get back to what proved to be a troubled sleep.

* * *

Thankfully, the attack which the magic-user had feared never came. Morning found his meagre campsite as he had set it up the night before, the remnants of the small fire still smoking slightly; he used the remaining warmth of the charcoal to heat up a bowl of porridge, which he shared with Findus before heading to the nearby stream for his daily ablutions. Shivering slightly in the cool breeze, he laid his breeches and shirt out upon a large rock before entering the cold water, his teeth audibly chattering; still, he had to keep up appearances, and so he gritted his teeth against the freezing temperature and applied a liberal amount of herbal soap before dipping his head beneath the water-

_:dragon-blooded:_

-his head shot up from the cold water, his eyes flickering open in alarm. A voice! A voice inside his head! No, that could not be; surely he'd know if anyone was trying to contact him using magical telepathy? It hadn't felt the same as a Sending. His tired head must be playing tricks on him, he told himself. Sighing, he ducked back down beneath the water, intending to rinse his hair-

_:dragon-blooded! one of my chosen comes to you! yield to him or suffer your fate-:_

"Gods _damn_ it! Can't I even take a bloody _bath _without somebody trying to fuck with my head?" Swearing loudly, Paramon made his way to the bank as quickly as he could, barely even pausing to rub himself down with a towel before pulling on his shirt and trousers. He kept glancing about warily, but nothing could he see which would have caused the whispering inside his mind; it was not an emissary of Shar, of that he was certain. Plenty of times had he spoken to her representatives before, and never had they sounded as strange as that disembodied purring which had permeated his skull. Disconcerted and somewhat nervous, he practically sprinted back to the campsite to saddle up his horse, not even bothering to chide Findus for lurking too long in the porridge bowl.

* * *

Much to the sorceror's discomfort, the next night was the same, and the one after that; there was always a large animal patrolling the perimeter of his camp, always just out of reach and out of sight, even to Findus' keen senses. Thankfully, whatever the beast was, it chose not to attack - and, much to the magic-user's relief, the strange voice he had heard whilst bathing did not trouble him again. Paramon was no fool, however; the appearances of the wierd nocturnal creature and the disembodied voice were too close together to be coincidental. They had to be connected somehow, but he couldn't think how. Besides, the implication that someone - or some_thing_ - had a champion selected to face him down did not offer much comfort. In the past, he'd already bested (or fled from) a number of holy champions, including paladins of Tyr and priests of Lathander, none of which had been particularly friendly to him. He had no intention of meeting this champion, whoever they may be.

* * *

On the following night, things changed. Paramon had set the camp up as usual - they were almost at their chosen destination in Daggerdale - and settled down for the night, having set extra magical wards about the area and asking Findus to keep a watch while he got the sleep he needed. There was little else he could do; he wasn't yet powerful enough to create magical shelters. Maybe he could buy some scrolls when they reached the next town. Grumbling unhappily to himself, the sorceror curled up and tried to sleep.

Suddenly alert, his eyes flicked open - only to meet the gaze of another, the creature's eyes staring intently into his own. Paramon opened his mouth to cry out in alarm, but his assailant had already considered this possibility and swiftly clamped a heand over the magic-user's lips.

"Be still, _kadaansha!_ I mean you no harm." His attacker was male, then; that much was evident from the voice, although the dialect was unclear, and there was something unearthly and fluid about the man's movements which marked him out as being distinctly odd. "You are Paramon, yes?" Mutely, the sorceror nodded, prompting his mysterious attacker to continue. "Good. That is what I thought. Again, I say I mean you no harm. Now - lie still."

Silently, Paramon lay flat, allowing the man to move away from him; as his assailant passed the fading embers of the dying fire, he noted the delicate structure of his face, the long black hair that framed the high cheekbones - and there, poking out from the ebony strands, a pointed ear. A half-elf! Suppressing a gasp of surprise, Paramon watched as the half-elf edged about the clearing, his eyes penetrating the darkness far more effectively than his own human orbs could have done. Seemingly satisfied, the half-elf stalked back to where the sorceror lay in a quivering heap beneath his bedclothes.

"Animals," the half-elf offered, as if in explanation. "Night creatures. But they are gone now, and I have found you. We are safe."

"Safe?" Paramon managed to splutter. "Safe? You, a stranger who can sneak past my wards in the dead of night and could have killed me in my sleep - you're saying I should feel _safe_?"

"Trust me, _kadaansha!_ You have no idea of what you speak." He felt inside one of his pockets and pulled out a rat. Findus! With a wry smile, he passed the squriming bundle back to the sorceror. "He is yours, I think."

"Oof! Bit cramped in there, Mr. P!" the rat whistled cheerily as he scrambled up to the boy's shoulder. "Ooh, and you're not dead! Brilliant!"

"Shut up, Findus! You're safe, and that's what matters." Paramon's cheeks flushed a little at this display of affection - for, in truth, the rat was his only friend, although he was loathe to admit it. "Anyway, since you seem to think we're so friendly here all of a sudden, the least you could do is tell me your name, seeing as you already know mine."

"Very well. I owe you that much, yes?" The half-elf spread his slender fingers as if in greeting, and fingered at a stone amulet he wore about his neck. "You are Paramon; I am known as Charnel."

"Charnel? But that's..."

"An inauspicious name, I know; a house of death, a tomb of decay. It is not my birth-name. Fret not."

"You're telling me not to worry?" The sorceror looked horrified. "How can you expect me to do anything _but_? If it is not your birth-name, then surely it is a name that has been earned - and isn't that far worse?"

"Not earned, nay. I have been saddled with it."

"Saddled? You mean, as if you've been burdened? Cursed?" His initial terror was giving way to his curiosity and his endless search for knowledge. "Is there a fell enchantment linked to the given name, then?"

"Something akin to that, yes." The half-elf frowned, as if trying to express in mere words what had happened to him. "I was hunting one day, alone. It was foolish of me - I should have known there were evil creatures abroad - but alone I was; I had unsuccessfully coursed a deer through a thicket of aspens, when a strange voice assailed my ears. "Lone hunter!" it hissed, and I must admit that I was afeared, for who in that remote forest would know or care of my day's actions? I had not yet killed anything, thus I did not think I had angered any of the forest-dwellers."Lone hunter!" it hissed again, and as I turned to see from where these words were coming, I was hit with a feeling so intense that I felt my very eyes themselves were in fire; I remember very little then, other than crumpling to the floor with my back arched in pain, howls of pain emitting from my throat. My eyes were clenched tightly shut, although even when I could open them, the world itself seemed blurry and unreal, although my ears discerned clearly the sound of laughter, a foul cackle which sent a chill down my burning spine. "Foolish hunter!" the voice sneered then, and I swear I felt clawed hands scratching at my sides. "This I give you as a reward for straying so far from safety - this amulet, and this name. 'Charnel' I name you, for you shall suffer naught but a life of bones, and nothing shall be left in your wake but darkness!" I think I must have passed into unconsciousness then, for when I came to, the pain had vanished and there were no other sounds in the clearing except the distant call of birdsong and the babbling of the brook."

"A strange tale indeed." Paramon nodded. The coincidences were not lost on him - it sounded as if the strange voice he had heard a few days ago, and this wierd curse that had been put on the half-elf, were the work of the same person - or monster. Was Charnel the champion whom the voice had spoken of? Unwilling to admit his ignorance, though, the sorceror decided to try and impress the half-elf with a comment on arcane lore. "It sounds like a very unusual spell, not one I am familiar with; you mentioned the amulet. May I see it?"

"Certainly - but I am afraid that if I try and remove it, I am wracked with pain. Believe me, I have tried many times, and I am in no hurry to try again. Here." Obligingly, Charnel leaned towards the sorceror and tilted his head back slightly, baring his smooth neck to the young human. Paramon reached in and took the pendant in his hand; it was attached to a cord about the half-elf's neck, but he was able to examine it clearly enough without having to remove it. At first glance, the stone pendant seemed plain, but as he looked more closely, faint etchings were visible on its surface; they seemed to form a pair of lips. So caught up was the magic-user in examining the pendant that he hadn't noticed Charnel's fingers reaching about his neck until they brushed at his long, loose hair, causing him to flinch and glance up at the half-elf in consternation.

"What in the Nine Hells are you _doing_? I'm trying to help you out here!"

"I'm sorry," Charnel mumbled apologetically. "It's just that... well... your hair seemed so _soft_..."

"It's because I take good care of it." Despite his initial anger, Paramon found himself flattered by the half-elf's words. "I wash it daily, and cleanse it with herbs to make sure it smells fresh; if there's a slight breeze, I leave it to dry naturally, and of course a quick smattering of magic helps to maintain the shine."

"Really? Ah I see..." Charnel's fingers continued to touch at the sorceror's hair, although Paramon didn't seem to mind so much any more. None of the villagers ever even noticed how much time he spent on preening himself, never mind offer words of praise on the matter; they were too busy rolling in pig-shit and shoving their unkempt heads into haystacks to consider the benefits of decent grooming. But Charnel, this complete stranger, seemed absolutely enrapt by his well-kept locks, so who was he to complain if he wanted a closer look? In fact, the more he thought about it, the more pleasant it seemed to have the half-elf's slender fingers roaming about his head, working out the occasional tangle here and there...

Maybe, he thought drowsily, maybe he should ask Charnel to stop stroking at him as if he were some kind of cat... They had to set a watch, and any kind of creature could come stalking through their camp in the darkness... maybe... maybe...

Before he could think of anything else, Paramon had fallen asleep.


End file.
